Death of the Jeep, Rise of the Wolf
by havendancehero
Summary: The only way Stiles knows he's been in a crash is when someone has the decency to tell him. Sure, they'll tell him that his Jeep, his baby, has been wrecked. They'll tell him that he nearly got a concussion. They'll tell him that Derek freaking Hale is waiting outside. What they won't tell him is why.


_Death of the Jeep, Rise of the Wolf_

* * *

The only way Stiles knows he's been in a crash is when someone has the decency to tell him. Sure, they'll tell him that his Jeep, his _baby_,has been wrecked. They'll tell him that he nearly got a concussion. They'll tell him that Derek freaking Hale is waiting outside. What they won't tell him is _why_.

In retrospect, he probably _has_ that concussion they'd been so worried about, but he just starts to connect the pieces on his own. He's got nothing better to do, right? Nothing to do but sit and wait to be released.

And he _still_ doesn't know why Derek freaking Hale is waiting for _him_. He doesn't know why it's not his dad or even _Scott_. Though Scott probably doesn't have the willpower to drag himself away from Allison long enough to make a trip to the hospital for something as insignificant as the throbbing in Stiles's head. Scott rarely brings dinner for his own _mother_. It's harder to believe that Derek Hale - resident brooding Alpha - is doing the honor of waiting for Stiles.

He's been sitting there for a while when deductive reasoning kicks back in and he leaps off the bed, determined to find Derek Jeep-mauler Hale and… kick his shins? If his steps hesitate after considering that Derek could rip out his neck - with his teeth! - he can't be blamed. He makes his way to the door and gets maybe a step or two out when a hand - _not_ a claw, thank all that is good and holy - grabs the strings of his hospital gown and yanks him back to the bed. Stiles briefly wonders who created hospital gowns and why they even needed to exist.

"Stay," Derek says and, though his eyes aren't red, Stiles feels at Derek's mercy. 'Cause, hel_lo_, werewolf of mass destruction standing at the edge of his bed? Bad news. The fear doesn't stop him from blurting out one very important question, though.

"Why are you here?" It's simple and he, Stiles Stilinski: Ace Detective, thinks he knows the answer. Of course, Derek can't be assed to give him anything to work with and goes back to the waiting room from whence he came. Stiles takes a moment to curse werewolf superpowers.

Derek comes back an hour later. In that time, Stiles has endured a slew of tests which he simply does not care about. He's being released and he's gotten suitable clothes. He's being released with Derek. Derek Jeep-mauler Hale. The squeak that comes out of his mouth is totally manly and everything, but he's still not sure how this is happening.

"Let's go."

"Go where?" Stiles is doing great in the interrogation department today. Yes sir.

"My car," Derek says, patient. Stiles has followed him out of the room.

"It's not destroyed?"

"No. Just because you have trouble avoiding trouble doesn't mean I have the same problem." The look Derek gives him almost causes him to be embarrassed. Almost. Stiles keeps rolling along.

"I thought with the whole 'hitting my Jeep and causing enough damage that it's irreparable' thing, I would at least get the satisfaction of knowing that the car almost as black as your soul - and probably overcompensating for something - was destroyed, too. You know?"

Derek doesn't look wounded, just amused. "No such luck, Stiles. My only part in this mess was tearing off your door and getting you to the hospital."

"You're missing the part where you stood outside my door for hours and forced me to stay there. Not that I mind much, because my head is still _killing_ me and trying to kick your," Stiles lowers his voice, "surly werewolf ass into next week would have been an enormous misstep. _But_, you have to admit that this is very Twilight of you. With the stalking you've been doing for a few nanoseconds short of forever and the brooding, my _hero_ reputation you've managed to earn yourself, I say you've gotten closer to Edward Cullen's sparkly ass already."

Derek has the decency to at least _smirk_ at his brilliant display of wit and maybe he heard a snort halfway through his rant, somewhere around the 'surly werewolf ass' bit, he's sure. That's a good sign. Either he's regained his sense of humor or he's in a parallel universe. Or both. Both is entirely possible.

"Jackson," Derek says. His face has morphed back into the strange mix of passive and irritated that only Derek could pull off.

"What?" Stiles stops walking, but Derek keeps his pace.

"Jackson Whittemore hit you in his Porsche," Derek says simply. It's obvious that he's fighting off another smirk and _damn_ if that isn't getting under Stiles's skin.

"Between almost killing me as the Kanima and tormenting the pack all the time _before_ that, you'd think he'd be willing to get me another car. Oh, and did I mention the part where he had a _restraining order_ issued against me? Because that happened." Stiles's voice is edging into dangerous and uncharted territory. His patience with Jackson can only go so far, after all. A _restraining order_. Seriously.

Derek shrugs. "Jackson's father came to an agreement with your father. The restraining order's going to be dropped from your record if the two of you ignore the accident."

"That can't be legal." Stiles gapes.

"Since when do you care, Stiles?" Derek gives him a sideways glance. Stiles shrugs.

"That's fair, I guess."

"It's completely fair. You're not dead or even severely injured. Jackson's car was totaled." Derek's smirk begins to widen into an actual, honest to God smile.

"What did you say?" Stiles grabs Derek's arm and makes note of how Derek doesn't push (read: shove) him away.

"Jackson's car - the shiny, extremely expensive one? - was totaled. Do you feel better now?" Derek's regained control over his expression again.

"Surprisingly, _yes_. Though, we need to mourn for the loss of my baby." Derek rolls his eyes, but Stiles doesn't move his hand from Derek's arm just yet. "Actually, that really only leaves one question. Why were you at the crash site, Derek?" The last bit sort of comes out as a rush, but he knows that Derek understood the question perfectly.

Derek jerks his arm away from Stiles and steps in front of him. He looks straight into Stiles eyes and Stiles _swears_ that he sees them flicker red for just a second before Derek reaches out and brings a tentative hand down on Stiles's shoulder. "… Figure it out."

XXX

The problem is that Stiles isn't too keen on 'figuring it out'. In fact, it would be much easier if Derek would just freaking _tell_ him what their new relationship status is. Because obviously they've transcended into the friend zone without Stiles knowing. But _no_. Derek has to let him figure it out on his own.

It also doesn't help that everyone notices Derek's newfound love for Stilinskis.

"You smell like pack," Scott says. He's gotten much more subtle about picking up scents.

It's good, because Scott wouldn't want the entire team kissing him just because he complimented their Armani. Stiles cringes at the memory. Danny had been down for a week after Scott had informed him that he wasn't flirting with him. Hey, though, Scott had said, Danny was a great guy and Scott should be so lucky and Scott wouldn't mind dating Danny at all if he wasn't totally and stupidly in love with a hunter.

Danny had given Scott this look, because Scott had just said the h-word and that implied the w-word and _that_ was the great and glorious day when Danny - and Lydia, because Danny and Jackson just could _not_ keep their mouths shut under pressure - had found out about the pack, including Derek. Danny and Lydia had taken it surprisingly well once they'd told them that Jackson wasn't an evil lizard anymore. No sir, Jackson was a full-blooded werewolf now. In the fur.

Anyway, Stiles barely notices the tell-tale flare of nostrils. He _does_ notice the confused expression on Scott's face - more than usual - as he moves around Stiles slowly. "Why do you smell like pack?"

Stiles groans, because he does _not_ and not even Jackson, Isaac, Erica, and Boyd all commenting on it can convince him otherwise. All things considered, though, today is a good day. Miles ahead of yesterday, even if Stiles's dad was forced to drive him to school this morning. However, his day takes a turn for the weird when he's hoisted into the passenger seat of Derek's car - what does he even do during the day, wait for them to get out of school? - by Erica and Isaac.

"This is kidnapping. I could have you arrested for kidnapping," Stiles says, looking seriously at Derek. Well, as seriously as possible when Derek's smiling at him. It's tight, yeah, but it's there.

Derek does this one-shoulder shrug thing as he pulls out of the parking lot, all while keeping one hand on the steering wheel and one suspiciously on the armrest between their seats. It's probably not altogether _that_ impressive, but Stiles is so baffled at this point that he almost expects Derek to start cracking jokes about theoretical physics. But please, that is _not_ going to happen. Then again, Derek was smiling and that was something that was never going to happen as far as Stiles had been concerned.

The night is still young. … Well, the afternoon is still spry, anyway.

Isaac and Erica are doing something in the back of the car which sounds all too much like cuddling, maybe making out. Stiles can't be sure, but he wouldn't put it past the two wolves to suck face in full view of Derek, Stiles, and any unfortunate people who were unlucky enough to glance towards the window.

"Where are you even taking me?" Stiles asks, because really. If he's being whisked off to their secret - well, not nearly as secret as Derek would like, what with the Argents having cameras, and hackers, everywhere - wolf den, he's probably going to have some kind of breakdown. Because as far he knows, Derek is still and Alpha and Stiles is still pitifully human. And if Derek has taken an interest in Stiles's well-being, Derek might want to make it less pitiful and therefore less human. Stiles purses his lips when he realizes that he would probably let Derek do exactly that. Damn it.

"Home."

"Scott-" Stiles starts before realizing how bad of an excuse 'Scott has a car' would have sounded. He tries again. "I could've gotten a ride from someone. You're not my keeper."

Derek pauses and Stiles pretends not to notice the way his foot presses down further on the pedal. "You got a ride. Stop complaining."

If Stiles grumbles all the way home, it's only because he still can't comprehend why Derek's being so… helpful - he won't dare say_ nice_ - all of a sudden.

XXX

He can_not_ be held responsible for this. Not at all. The last few weeks have been _getting_ too him. It's too much. The first few times Derek gave him a ride home? Okay. Fine. The first day or two that Derek picked him up in the morning to save Stiles's dad some time? Whatever. His dad could use a break. Freaking show up at Stiles's lacrosse games - in which, mind you, Stiles has never played a moment, not even a _second_ of a moment, of - and staring from his spot on the bleachers until Stiles ditches the bench and comes to sit in companionable silence with him? _That's_ the start of something which is too much for Stiles to wrap his head around.

That is the straw that breaks the wolf's back. Preferably Jackson's back, actually, and for a long enough time so that Stiles won't have to think about this - whatever this _is_ - until Jackson's back is recovered. That thought was going somewhere, Stiles thinks, but his anxiety is getting to him.

The current situation would be the one where he's standing in the middle of the den. The den is a vast improvement over the dump where they'd been staying before, but it's nowhere near as homey as Stiles would like. Then, it's the den of _werewolves_, so it's not as if his opinion really matters.

Stiles sizes up the threat that Boyd, Erica, and Isaac pose to him. That threat is apparently minimal being as they're sort of… kneeling? Bowing, really.

Oh God. They're bowing to him.

Along comes Derek, marching in front of a little over half of his mangy pack. Scott and Jackson are, thankfully, nowhere to be found. Derek snaps his fingers and - of _course_, because Stiles has the _worst_ luck imaginable - the three Betas scramble over themselves trying to get out of the den.

Then, he's face-to-face with Derek freaking Hale and there's a moment's pause before…

"What are you doing here, Stiles?" Stiles deflates, the energy and resolve he had built up before coming here dripping out of him like the blood from an arrow wound.

"I was thinking maybe we could talk about our latent relationship issues," Stiles says, because Derek lately seems to sap _all_ of his humor out of him. It's something about his eyes, Stiles thinks. When they're not red and glowing and all Alpha-y they're, well… Stiles won't say beautiful because that's not how you describe something so earthy, so primal, so deadly and attractive in the same instant.

Derek quirks his eyebrows, but he doesn't move to, you know, kill Stiles. Stiles takes that as a sign to go on. "You've been sort of stalking me since the crash and while I appreciate your newfound concern I was just sort of wondering maybe why?" It's word vomit and accusations and of course Derek steps towards him and brings a - declawed! - hand towards Stiles's face. His fingers are rough. Stiles shudders.

"You want to know why?" Derek asks, obviously amused with himself. "You're pack."

"I'm not-" Stiles starts.

"Don't. You're Scott's blood brother. You're pack."

"And what about you, huh? Where do I stand with _you_? Where do I stand with the Big Bad Wolf?" Stiles looks Derek straight in the eyes. He's not scared of the Big Bad Wolf. That's probably a sign of something.

"A Little Red reference, Stiles? C'mon. We both know you're much more capable." Derek's chuckle is soft and almost warm. "How about you show me something new?"

It's easy, then. Stiles knows that it's been leading up to this and, _God_, it would have been so much easier to just march in and do this in the first place. He knows what to do, though. He can lead if Derek needs him to, damn it.

Stiles either leans up or grabs Derek's shoulders and pulls the Alpha down. Stiles can't remember because, let's face it, there's always going to be something better than the first _anything_. Stiles kisses him and it's chaste and, as requested, totally new. It's the start of something - the birth of something not completely foreign to Stiles.

"How long?" Stiles isn't panting when he pulls away, damn it. He's just _not_. Derek freaking Hale does not have that kind of power over him.

"Long enough." Derek smirks then and Stiles isn't entirely surprised that it doesn't fail to infuriate him even more than it did back in the hospital over two months ago. Of course, his anger is all but vanquished when Derek leans in again.

And the second kiss _is_ better, because Derek takes Stiles face in both his hands, pulling Stiles to him. His lips still burn against Stiles's with the newness of contact. Derek deepens the kiss, probing, while one hand leaves Stiles's face, trailing fingers down his cheek and brushing down his side until Derek's arm wraps around his back and Derek pulls him close.

It doesn't matter what Stiles still doesn't know about Derek. It doesn't matter what Derek's favorite color is or what Stiles's father is going to think about his son dating an ex-fugitive. It doesn't matter that Stiles hasn't even broached the concept of Derek's family… or his mother.

It doesn't matter because Stiles isn't terrified in the deepest parts of his mind. For the first time since Scott was bitten, he relaxes into something naturally. And there's no surprise in his heart for sensing that Derek's relaxing against him too. There's no surprise in his heart when he see the smile lighting up Derek's face when he lets Stiles go, latent trust issues be damned.

"Do you want to know the real reason why you smell like my pack, Stiles?" Derek asks later, when they're curled up on the couch at Stiles's house, waiting for his dad to get home.

"No." Stiles closes his eyes and nudges his head into the crook of Derek's neck, settling in for a long night. "I already know."

* * *

A/N: I, ah, don't really do the whole "Author's Note" thing. If you've gotten this far, though? Thanks for reading! Review if you've got the time. It means a lot.


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